


The Unnamed Feeling

by fender_anarchist



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociation, Fugue, Gender Dysphoria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:34:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27024364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fender_anarchist/pseuds/fender_anarchist
Summary: All you ever wanted was to feel some measure of control in your life. To feel like you actually belonged in this world.It's not your fault they didn't warn you how bad things could get.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Name this for me, heat the cold air**  
**Take the chill off of my life**  
**And if I could I'd turn my eyes**  
**To look inside to see what's comin'**

Your name is Naeris Tra’tenka, and oh boy are you tired of teachers never _telling_ you anything.

“Ok, but like, _why?_ The druids up at the temple use magic all the time and no one bothers them!”

“The druids gain their abilities by quieting their minds, by attuning themselves to nature’s majesty and allowing it to act through them, by learning to ask the world to help. These wizard tricks… anyone can learn them, regardless of how undisciplined they are, and that makes them _dangerous._ ”

“So teach me how to use it better! We do sword training, isn’t it the same? ‘You need to learn respect for these weapons so you don’t hurt yourself with them.’ I wanna get good at magic!”

“The answer is _no_ , boy.”

Your name is Naeris. Your friend Kamlen is pulling a face during a spirituality lecture and you can’t suppress a snicker.

“ **Tra’tenka!** Care to explain what’s so funny?”

“It was Kammers, I swear! He was making me laugh, I’m trying to understand-”

“Tenner, quit tattling! Teach, he’s lying, don’t believe him, I was payin’ attention-”

“Then I suppose you’ll be able to tell me about the mutable form of the blessed of Corellon?”

“Uhhh… somethin’ about experiencing the world as, like, other kinds a people to get better perspective?”

“…a simplistic answer, but not wrong. By exploring the myriad forms of elvenkind and viewing the world through those lenses, they gain a deeper understanding of their true selves, and by extension the spiritual web that links all of our people.”

You snort. “Right, so you just decide ‘hey I’m gonna be a girl for a bit’ and then you wake up as one? Sounds fake.”

“Those born with this ability are rare, it’s true. Yet their contributions to our society are invaluable when they do appear. Please try and show some respect, ‘Mr. Wizard’, you do us all a disservice by discarding our culture. There hasn’t been a shifter born in Ellmenore in many generations, but who knows? You may manifest this trait yourself someday.”

You cross your arms and hunch down in your seat. “Whatever.”

You wake up the next morning, still yourself. See? You knew she was lying. Still a boy, just like always.

“Fucking let go, twerp!”

You keep a hold on your sister’s longbow. “I _said_ I just wanna hold it! You’re not special!”

She kicks your shin, making you flinch in surprise; you tumble apart as your grip releases and it slides out of your hands. “They gave this bow to ME because I’m a good enough shot to actually use it! If you shot with it you’d spray arrows all over the city!”

“Uggggh!! You’re such a bitch, Eryn! Why won’t you let me have _anything_ cool!?”

“You _have_ your stupid magic trick! Just go do that at people if you’re so awesome, and leave me ALONE!”

You watch your sister storm off. She’s so stupid, she’s got EVERYTHING and she’s so much cooler than you and everyone loves her. You’re jealous of the way they treat her. ‘ooooh Eryn you’re so cool you’re gonna be a captain someday blurgh.’

Your name is Naeris, and you’d be that cool too if you were her.

“Wow, this stuff is so cool! They’ve showed us spells before but they all require like special stuff you gotta hold and they don’t let us keep it.”

The traveling merchant smiles. “Not _all_ of them require material foci, young man! There are spells one can cast with but the flick of a wrist and a quick incantation! Here, look, I have some here if you’re interested.”

You flick through some of the scrolls he offers. Most are boring. Fall through the air slowly? Grab stuff from far away? That firework thing you learned already? _Laaaaame_ wait this one lets you shoot ICE AT STUFF? 

“I can cut you a deal on that! Most people interested in my wares already have more powerful magics at their command, but you seem like a bright lad with a promising future. You should swing by Tarz some time! The University has much to teach those with your predilections. Now, about those spells that require ‘stuff’… have you ever heard of an Arcane Focus?”

Your name is Naeris and oh no oh wow how did everything spiral out of control so goddamn fast? All you wanted was one of those focus things, the village trees were supposed to be super magic, what could it hurt to break off a branch and make a staff out of it? How were you supposed to know a spell could react with it and hurt it so bad? Now they all hate you, that guy Laeroth said he was gonna ‘fix your little discipline problem _permanently_ ’, you’re smart enough to know a DEATH THREAT when you hear one, oh fuck oh shit oh hell you gotta keep running.

“Sorry Kam”, you think to yourself, “can’t hang around, it’s too dangerous.”

The branch is cold in your hands.

You’re a lonely wood elf, lost in the woods, and you are so tired. It’s been months since you found a stream to wash yourself in. Your hair is getting long and scraggly. Bugs are boring and it took a while to get hungry enough to try em, but at least they’re easy to find and eat.

You’re still whittling away at that staff, trying to make it into something useful. You can feel it pulling your energies into itself, but they’re still disorganized, messy, angry. Just like your thoughts. Fucking assholes if they’d just EXPLAINED stuff you coulda avoided all this you coulda known the danger and not fucking done it you could have stayed home and had family and friends and a GODDAMN BED TO SLEEP IN.

You stink these days. You remember being a kid, and going days without washing up and it was fine. Now you’re getting older and without cleaning you just emit a _stench_ all the time and it’s in your nose it’s in your mouth it’s in your MIND

You’re a being without a name and all you can do is survive. Your body does things almost on autopilot. It tells you things it wants and sometimes you give in. You always feel gross afterwards.

The big rock is in your way. The word “mountain” goes through your mind, briefly. You just wanted to go over but it’s too much up and you got cold. So you’re going sideways instead. Maybe stuff is behind them, gotta keep walking.

At least the big sharp furry things cant hurt you. You don’t know why holding the stick up makes their claws bounce away, or why your hands make them cold sometimes. You just keep them away, and sometimes, you eat, juices catching in the sparse hair that covers your chin.

You unravel.


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm frantic in your soothing arms**   
**I can not sleep in this down filled world**   
**I've found safety in this loneliness**   
**But I can not stand it anymore**

Your name.... is....?

You’ve been in some kinda brain fog for.... you don’t really want to think about how long. You went feral, and then you couldn’t get food for a while, and you collapsed while climbing... a fence? on the edge of what you now realize is a farm. You sit upright and suddenly the universe is erupting in spinning chaos. You almost fall out of the bed.

“Oh, sweetie, lay down, you got you a nasty ol’ bump on your noggin and if you ain’t careful you’re fixin’ to get another one and we do _not_ have a healer nearby what can take care of a knock like that.”

You feel a gentle, strong pair of hands rest on your shoulders, steadying you as you wrench your eyes shut. They push you back down to the soft bed, and after grumbling indistinctly you fall asleep again.

“Oh hon’, you need to _eat_ somethin’, you’re fixin to turn right into a skeleton! We gotta put some meat on them bones.”

You’re very slowly and carefully shuffling after her. Julia, she said her name was. She’s a human, you think; this might be the first one you’ve ever interacted with.

“You’re in luck, I got some nice biscuits in the oven, and the sausage gravy oughtta be ready in a few here. Why don’tcha sit you down at the table and I’ll finish up. You drink coffee?”

You open your mouth to answer but you just go into a coughing fit. She looks at you with concern. Gosh, she looks nice. Her dark skin and tight curly hair remind you of... someone. She repeats, “Coffee?” and you just nod slowly. She sets the cup in front of you and you just sip it gently.

The breakfast is _incredible._

“So how’d you find your way to this here little slice o’ the world, sweety?”

You stare into the distance, racking your brain. “Still can’t say as I rightly know. There’s bits and pieces floatin’ around willy nilly and I ain’t got much idea how they stack up.” You don’t quite know what your own words are shaped like, but taking her words feels nice so you put them inside your head.

She looks at you with sympathy. “Aw sugar... well, there’s work to be done, but so long as you can lend a hand here and there I can put you up while you sort things out.”

Your name... fuck your old name. It’s been a few weeks, and as you have time to settle and think you’ve been piecing together bits of your memory. You remember running, you remember anger, you remember fear and desperation. You remember that they set you up to fail and got mad when you did. You don’t want to use their name for you anymore.

You finally have baths again, so at least the stink is held at bay. Your skin still crawls every time you catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror. Remembering how hard the past few decades have been... how scared you’ve been... you almost don’t recognize the grown elven man staring back at you. You pick up the smoked glasses Julia gave you for outside work and put them on, along with the floppy hat made of straw. Between the two, they hide enough of your face that you feel like you’re looking at someone else, and the feeling subsides.

You think back on the things that sent you running. The hatred from the man who lifted you by your collar as he threw you in a jail cell. That epithet he laid on you. Tree-breaker. _Tra-xen_. You roll the name around in your mouth, contemplating. Funny how it almost echoes your family name. He hated you, _they all_ hated what you wanted to do with your life, but what did they know? They wanted to insult you, to put a label on you that judges you for actions _they_ led you to? Well FUCK that, they don’t get to hold that over you. You’re wearing that insult as a badge of honor.

Traxen. Yeah. That’ll do.

It’s a chilly winter night, and you’re together with Julia on a rug in front of the hearth. The fire is warm, but she’s warmer, breathing wordless joy in your ear as you explore her with your hands. Her skin is so nice to touch, unlike yours; it’s soft, supple, encouraging you to keep feeling more of it. Taking her ecstasy to its peak with only your touch is gratifying in a way few things have been before, and the ghost of a smile tugs at your face.

Things go south along with her hands. As she undoes your belt, the contentment fades, replaced with a tension that makes your face go cold. Your jaw clenches as she traces the outline of her prize. As she begins sliding your underpants down, the feeling spikes. You push her away and scramble back, senses all in disarray, heart racing as you hyperventilate. Something’s wrong this can’t happen you want this but having it feels so bad and you’re trying to stand and run and you trip and oh those bricks look hard—

She’s sewing a new skirt up as you come back to consciousness and walk out of the bedroom. You almost meet her eyes before flinching away, the shame of how you reacted almost overwhelming you.

“Look, sweety, if I revolted you that much—”

“So I just wanna say sorry and it’s not you—”

You both sputter to a stop. She puts the fabric down and turns toward you, waiting with her arms crossed.

“Right. Yeah. Well.” You take a deep breath. “It’s not like _that_ , I promise. You’re gorgeous and everything I did for you felt amazing. I just... I’m realizin’ that I ain’t much for, uh, bein’ seen, bein’ exposed, like that. I thought I wanted it, I really did, I just... didn’t know myself as well as I thought, I guess.”

There’s a hollowness in her eyes. She doesn’t believe you.

“I think you best get movin’ on, Mr. Traxen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bodies are complicated things. They give us urges, they let us know what they need. But sometimes body and mind are in conflict, and what you were told you needed is the worst possible thing you could have.
> 
> It's a hard lesson to learn.


	3. Chapter 3

**Then the unnamed feeling**   
**It comes alive**   
**Then the unnamed feeling**   
**Takes me away**

Your name is Traxen and you ran away again. From her, from yourself, from those feelings you don’t want to think about anymore.

You found your way to a sleepy little town a few days’ travel down the road from the farm.

That was 30 years ago now. You’re working the bar at a local tavern; your core competencies of “scraping by in the wild” and “casting a few cantrips” aren’t exactly in demand, so you work for your couple silver a day as you sell dozens of gold worth of drinks and food per shift (and oh boy does that strike you as more than a little unfair.) At least the lodgings are free.

Bellpass is small, but its location on a major trade route means you get nicely varied clientele. So many stories, so many personalities, so many voices to try on. You don’t know exactly why it raises your hackles so much to hear yourself speak aloud, or why changing your voice to mimic someone else’s seems to relieve it, but you know it helps, at least for a little while. You mostly stay isolated; thinking about Julia still hurts and seeking out comfort, whatever sort of partner you’re with, inevitably ends the same way it did with her. At least when you pay for it their personal feelings aren’t on the line.

There’s a woman in front of you tonight, high elf, golden hair and azure eyes, comfortable traveling leathers failling to obscure her lithe form. Not that you have any designs on her, but one does tend to notice these things. She’s on her 5th tankard in the past couple hours. Her words waver somewhat, but that classy, almost noble voice still commands your attention as she slowly vents her worries to you. At least she tips well.

“And of course father never did enjoy my prelidiction—prediction—my lust for travel. Thinks I should simply lounge about the estate and pay attention to my studies. ‘ _This rebellious spirit ill suits a **lady** —_[she nearly spits the word like a piece of tainted meat]— _such as you, Elektra dear. Won’t you settle down and tend to my accounts like you ought?_ ’ It strains my patience to _such_ a degree.”

“Er, well, can’t much say as I’ve a knack for things like that. I ‘aven’t ‘ad much experience with fancy society like you. Does ever’one live like that in... you said yer from Glosloria?” This voice was taken from a group of bards that passed through some months back. The singer (John... osgood? somethinig like that) had a lilt, an ease to himself that you wished you could just wrap yourself up in, even if he had to stumble to get complete sentences out through the haze of whatever substances he ingested for fun.

She sighs. “No, we’re... rather high up in standing. Mostly farmers, earthy sorts like yourself. The kind of people I’d sooner hang out with than play my part another day.”

“Hah... now runnin’, there’s somethin' I know a bit about. Sometimes bein’ who you are’s just intolerable and you need to check out for a bit, eh? Not that I don’t envy your life a touch, mind.”

She groans. “In truth, it’s not even my lifestyle that chafes. It’s everything. The outfit. The looks from everyone who sees me. The obligation to be sympathetic... available... beautiful.” She downs the remainder of her current drink and places a few more silver on the bar, and you wordlessly begin refilling it from the keg behind you. “Frankly, I’d trade my life for yours in a second if it got me out of the damnable way some of these folks treat ladies.”

Your eye twitches as you straighten the glass to foam the head just a bit. You speak without turning to look at her. “Trust me... any other bloke, maybe, but you dun’ want to take mine. Lifestyle’s cozy enough, but bein’ me ain’t exactly a peach.” You set the drink in front of her. “Honestly I’d do anything to be someone other’n who I am.” Your eyes widen as you realize you’ve overshared a bit, and you quickly grab a clean glass and start drying it very intently.

She doesn’t seem to notice. “Please. Do you have any idea what it’s like, gazing upon a body that’s brought you nothing but grief, that just... does things of its own accord, that makes you feel like a prisoner within a tomb of meat?”

You’re very quiet after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When your own wants are diametrically opposed to another's, it can be almost impossible to feel empathy. Yet often, if you try, there's a glimmer of connection even where there's no understanding to be had. Sometimes you have to see a strange reflection of yourself, reversed and unfamiliar, to put your own self in order.
> 
> [The singer that Traxen talks like now is ABSOLUTELY Johnathan "Ozzy" Osbourne, btw. So imagine that but with less stumbling over his own mouth.]


	4. Chapter 4

**Been here before, couldn't say I liked it**   
**Do I start writing all this down?**   
**Just let me plug you into my world**   
**Can't you help me be un-crazy?**

Your name is Traxen and you’re 165 years old, now. Over 1/5 of your lifespan gone and ~~thank fuck for that~~ nothing to show for it. The tavern is quiet, easy, but against all odds, against your better judgment, you’re getting the urge to run again.

There’s a couple jackasses making noise tonight. A dwarf wearing an eyepatch is getting extremely competitive in a darts game against his large human friend, and their uproar seems to be disturbing an orcish lady with a _very_ large crossbow. There’s an old human in the back corner with a few companions. Scrawny and quiet, that lot; probably nothing to worry about.

The dwarf hits the middle. “HAH! Eat it, Magnus! I _told_ ya I’d get a bullseye first! ‘Depth perception’ my ass!”

“I want a second go! Best 2 out of 3, c’mon, old man!”

The orc snaps at them, “Can you guys keep your voices down for, I dunno, a _minute_? Some of us are here to relax, and I’m not in a mood for hilarious antics right now!”

The human seems to miss the warning in her voice. “Oh! If you wanna relax, we could have a nice sparring match! That always helps me unwind. I’ll go without my axe, just fisticuffs. C’mon, it’ll be fun! Merle, you be the referee!”

You start walking around the bar, gripping your staff in your left hand, your dagger in the right. This is getting out of hand quickly, you can tell. “Awright, awright, let’s settle down, none o’ that.”

The orc grits her teeth. “Actually, I’ve got a better idea.” In one swift motion she whips her crossbow off its sling, cocks it with all the ease of a training bow and aims it at the bearded man. The groaning in the wood tells you it’s at least a 150 lb draw. “You get the fuck out of here and let me drink in peace before I send a spike through _your_ bullseye!”

“Oooh, that sounds like a challenge! Hey, I know, you shoot and I’ll try and dodge it!”

You’re diving in between them in a panic now. “OY! I SAID SETTLE DOWN!”

The crossbow fires, bolt flying squarely at your face.

Old instincts kick in. You fling your staff up and shout, “STOP!”

A shimmering field of light distortion surrounds you. The bolt glances off, shattering from the oblique impact against the wild, jittering energy you summoned. The woman flinches back with a start.

The field fades after a moment. You growl in an uncharacteristically deep tone as you point at her with the dagger. “You—” You whip around and jab it toward the two idiots. “—and you. OUT.”

The dwarf puts his hands up. “Hey, man, c’mon, we were just playin’ around! Maggie gets rowdy sometimes, but—”

You start towards them. “SORRY, _MAN_ , I DI’N’T INVITE A BLOODY DEBATE, DID I? You lot are disrupting my business, an’ I’m not ‘avin’ it tonight, am I?”

The two are holding their heads and blinking. You look at them quizzically.

A voice, worn but powerful, comes from over your shoulder. “Now, now. I think **you three should stand down and leave this establishment peacefully. Go find lodgings elsewhere and take a day to cool your tempers.** ”

The two men straighten, arms falling to their sides. “Right... cool down” says the dwarf. The human nods. “Leave peacefully, got it.” They stiffly begin marching out, walking past you as if you aren’t even there. As you turn, you see the woman also departing, re-stowing her weapon, not so much as a breath of protest.

What the actual fuck?

You turn towards the source of the voice. He’s old for a human, mostly grey hair receded fully, save a dark strip extending up the middle into the remnants of a widow’s peak. He wears a very fine set of deep red robes, lined with gold along the seams. He’s tucking away a glass orb as he watches the troublemakers leave, a neutral expression on his face. It warms to a broad smile as he turns to his companions with swords half drawn; a calming gesture relaxes them as they sit back down. A nearly white beard covers his jaw, almost as wide as his face is long.

You tuck your weapons away and start cleaning up the mess left on the tables as you drop back into customer service mode. “Right, sorry ‘bout all that ruckus, we get some nasties in here sometimes. Round o’ drinks on the house for your trouble, I don’t normally ‘ave that much trouble puttin’ down a brawl but—”

“Oh, young man, apologies are hardly necessary! As you can see, I had the matter well in hand, and I certainly don’t mind helping to keep the order now and then!” He’s looking at you now, steel grey eyes locked on yours. “And I must say, that was quite the display! Tell me, where did you get your spellcasting training?”

You mutter “Er, well, I’ve not ‘ad trainin’, so much. That’s just sort of somefin I sorted out on me own.” You’re looking very intently at your hands as you wipe down the tables.

“On your own? Really?” He sounds genuinely impressed. You look up to see an eyebrow raised. “That’s quite...mmm. May I see your staff?”

You hesitate. Thoughts from the last century race through your head as you contemplate. Something about him, though, just seems... trustworthy? You haven’t felt that in a long time. “Erm... sure? It ain’t hardly special, but ‘ere.”

He takes the staff in his hands, inspecting it closely. “Wood from the Blackholt Forest... a fine choice, and rare, too! Craftmanship’s a bit crude, but it could be refined a bit more.” He looks up at you again. “And that casting... a rough example of a shielding spell, but clearly serviceable! And you say you worked it out on your own?” You nod. He continues, looking over the staff before handing it back to you. “I don’t think I need to tell you how rare that sort of thing is. Magic is a tricky thing. It can backfire dangerously, and it takes great skill to weave together a meaningful effect. You have genuine talent!”

You feel a deep anxiety. You’re not used to being complimented. “I... thanks? It’s more of a hobby, really, I ain’t much of a magician.” You’re staring at the floor, staff hanging limply in your hand.

“Well, perhaps we could fix that? I happen to know of an establishment." He chuckles to himself. "Well, 'happen' is maybe the wrong word; I run it, you see. And I know that we can take that raw talent you displayed so effortlessly, and forge it into something truly spectacular!”

Your heart skips a beat as you give him a questioning look.

It’s been a long 5 years since Professor Fletcher pulled you out of that tavern, and you hardly recognize the man you see in the mirror. Growing the hair out was initially just you being lazy, but you think it suits you, especially since you figured out how to prestidigitate it other colors. It’s currently a pale blond, contrasting with your dull tan skin and deep brown goatee, which of course you’re very proud of. It's unique. Unique is good.

You still dress mostly simply, but you do accessorize with a vibrant green derby hat, bought with the stipend from your scholarship. You have an old green cloak that goes with it; an extra bit of flair for when you’re feeling _especially_ flamboyant. The sunglasses are now a permanent part of your ensemble, even indoors during lectures, and you think the total package makes you one cool dude! Traxen The Magnificent, that’s you, hell yes!

You enjoy taking control of your style for the first time. It almost makes up for the revulsion you feel when you see yourself underneath it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry about those troublemakers. They're not from anything. If they happen to resemble people you've heard of before... well, who am I to contradict your headcanons? ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Cross my heart, hope not to die**  
**Swallow evil, ride the sky**  
**Lose myself in a crowded room**  
**You fool, you fool, it'll be here soon**

You think about how much you’ve learned since coming here. History, math, arcane symbology, artifact lore, world history... most of it’s bullshit, of course, but hey, prerequisites. At least herbalism class was interesting. You find so many _interesting_ plants in the woods around Bo’Daal, with such varied effects on your mental state! It’s rare you’re seen without a cigarette between your lips, filled with whatever blend you’ve stumbled upon that week.

Learning the deep theory behind spellweaving has been eye-opening. The few spells you’ve picked up so far are fairly basic, but just in contemplating the shape of the glyphs you memorize from your book, you can imagine so much more potential. Progress on that front is frustratingly slow, though; Inkov says you need to learn patience, lest you become dangerous. Those words stung, at first, but at this point you just get annoyed thinking about it. This simple shit can only help you so much. You wanna get to the big leagues, that strong Transmutation magic you keep hearing about; gaining utter control over matter and form? FUCK yes, that is what you’re talking about!

You think about how little you’ve learned since coming here.

You hatch a plan.

It’s comical how easy it was to get into the Transmutation department head’s office. You managed to snag a ton of spells, and holy SHIT are you excited to dig into them! Psychic messages? Picking shit off the ground with your mind? Slamming it around? Making it fight for you? Forcing an adrenaline rush? TURNING INTO ANIMALS??!?!? You can’t believe your fucking haul!

The thoughts of what will happen if you’re discovered get brushed aside. You got in and out of the office no sweat, now you’re just idly wandering the halls late at night! Nothing suspicious, you do that a lot.

Muffled voices catch your ear. You turn to the door you’re passing. “Inkov Fletcher”, reads the inscription on the office you’ve been in many times. You’ve never known him to be up at 2 a.m., though. You press up against the door, picking out the voices.

“—contract will be in effect soon. Once they start delivering, we start the, ah, ‘mining operation’ and stockpiling soul gems. The bigger ones will take a while to fulfill, but they all have their uses, of course.”

A voice, familiar yet unfamiliar, a strange hollowness to it. “Excellent. And, of course, our associate under the spider queen is getting her part of the plan under way. Once she achieves her ultimate form, she can get the settlement site secured.”

“And you’re _sure_ we can trust her?”

“Trust? Oh my, no, of course not! But trust is not required. Were she to let the artifact fall out of her hands, her own security would be at risk. She’s ambitious enough to protect her own best interest, and for the foreseeable future that means working with us.”

“I suppose. She has a secure location?”

“The spider tomb, in the hills to the south of the T’Lirian Forest. Her patron keeps watch there, and no one even knows she has the artifact.”

“It had better be enough. If some damn fool would-be hero gets his hands on it and awakens it—”

“I don’t need to be reminded of the stakes. That’s why Steelcut’s role is so critical. Once she secures the holy sites and disrupts the worship of the gods, anyone who _does_ get their hands on one of the Vestiges will have rather a difficult time cleansing them. Within a century or two, they won’t remember that the Primes ever wielded any real power.”

Your mind is racing. Vestiges? Spider queen (isn’t that some Dark Elf thing? You should have paid better attention in Religious History) and her servant? Soul Gems? Holy sites? What the fuck are you hearing?

The unfamiliar voice speaking with Fletcher continues. “Which brings me to another matter. The lesser mortals are easy enough to deceive, short as their lives are. I worry about the elves, though. The high elves that aren’t scattered are in Glosloria, and once Lenahtan can make his move that’ll be a non-issue. The forest dwellers, however, are another matter entirely.”

Your eyes go wide as dinner plates. Do they mean—

“Yes, Ellmenore could become a problem. They do tend to keep to themselves, so at the very least I don’t see them sending out a standing army early on. The later phases could be enough to rile them up.” You hear a chuckle. “Still, you know full well I have an ace up my sleeve on that front. The boy came from there, and from what I've gleaned, he doesn’t seem to have much love for home. By the time things are in motion, he’ll be a loyal follower; and with how adept he’s already been, he’ll be easily capable of leading the assault there when the time comes. Put your mind at ease.”

You don’t hear the rest of the conversation. You’re reeling inside as you quietly ease away from the door and down the hall, glancing furtively around for watching eyes.

You think about home. You think about having your life threatened, about never being taken seriously. You think about getting kept away from the one thing that really brought you joy. You think about how if they’d just talked to you, explained things, you could have avoided almost 50 years of sheer misery.

You think about your parents. You think about the awe you felt just wandering the woods closer to home. You think about your sister; she’s probably a ranger by now. You think about Kam. He always seemed so sad ~~just like you~~ compared to your other peers. You wonder if he’s doing alright.

You head for the campus entrance.

Your name is Traxen, and you’re running again. For the first time in your life, you think, you’re running _towards_ something, even as you flee something else. You don’t know why you’re so determined. Maybe, if you can keep them from hurting your home, from doing worse, you can make up for fucking up so bad in the first place. Maybe you can show that you’ve grown, that you can handle things yourself, that you don’t need to be coddled or disciplined or whatever they were doing back then. Maybe... maybe you can finally feel good about yourself.

Maybe.

Glosloria has a different vibe. Bo’daal was mostly shorter-lived races, so it’s strange to be surrounded by mostly people like you again. You keep your hood over your face, just in case that Lenahtan person is around.

Despite your own urgency, there’s a placidity here, a sense of life and comfort. Private merchants selling in the streets, instead of school-run shops selling crap at a markup. Musicians and dancers just performing wherever they please, drawing pleased audiences. You see a pair of women in an alley, kissing deeply. Gosh that looks nice. You’re so glad people can just be themselves. That’s what that tightness is in your chest. Empathy. Yeah.

“Hail and well met, good fellow!” says the burly human, in an all-too-familiar tone.

The dwarf sitting next to him puts his one good hand on his face. “Magnus, come on, you don’t gotta be full cheese _all_ the time, do ya?” He’s got quite a few new scars on his face, and his left arm has been replaced with some kind of... moving tree? That’s a new one.

“Well, I just want him to know that there’s no hard feelings! I mean, the charm spell was a little unnecessary, but I think that was the other guy?”

“Er... right... so look ‘ere, lads, I know fings were a little tense last time we met, but ‘ey, bygones an’ all that, eh?” They look at you deadpan, until you pull your hand out of your bag and place 50 gold coins on the table. “I got a bit o’ trouble I need ‘elp with, and the three of us together should be able to pull it off. Whaddaya say, huh?”

“Well hey, nice to see you again, old friend! I don’t think I caught your name?”

You leave in the morning, so you decide to blow off some steam. It’s never worked before, but hey, maybe the spirit of adventure will make the escort’s services finally click for you!

It didn’t. You’re disgusted again.

The journey through the woods is uneventful. You run into a few bandits, but between the three of you short work is made of them. Crossing through a wide-open clearing, you eventually find your way through some hills to a cavern. You think this might be the place, that spider tomb you heard about. Should be easy, just in and out.

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO RUSH IN, YOU BLOODY IDIOT!”

You’re terrified. Whatever that... _thing_... is, looking at it makes your body lock up. And it’s not just fear. Merle is already fully petrified, turned into a stone, somehow. Magnus at least got a swing in, but his movements are getting sluggish. He leaps out of the way of a tail swipe from that giant lizard... and freezes solid in mid-air. And smashes into Merle. And then they’re both just gravel.

You’re hiding in an alcove. You wait for silence. You make a dash for the door. Eyes. Yellow eyes no fuck not like this—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basilisks are a real motherfucker, huh? F to those other guys. Shoulda been better at keeping their balance.
> 
> There are monsters everywhere in the world, you know. Some of them less obvious. Don't feel bad when they catch you; it's their malice that's to blame, not you.


	6. Chapter 6

**And I wait for this train**   
**Toes over the line**   
**And then the unnamed feeling**   
**Takes me away**

—you’re falling you hit your hands breathe breathe focus WAIT THE THING wait who’s that kid

You shake your head. Everything’s fuzzy. Where are you? Why were you here? You remember a name. Ellmenore. You remember another name. Traxen. You remember... there was... _something_ , here.

You look as you hear the muttering of a spell. There’s a halfling, wearing the colors of... Pelor? Okay, so you remember some things. There’s lots of statues now. Lots are broken. This one’s... a dwarf? But you remember—no. This one’s taller. And female. She rubs her head, lips pursed in an expression that’s kind of adorable no stop it this isn’t the time for that.

“Easy, now, you’re gonna be woozy for a bit, just hold still for now, okay?” the halfling tells her. He moves over to the last remaining statue. Elven, just like you, though a fair bit shorter. That’s a hell of a sword on her back. The stone turns to flesh and... darkens? WAIT IS THAT A DARK ELF? FUCK–ok, well, she’s not immediately trying to kill you for being a dude, so that’s ~~un~~ fortunate.

He looks over to you. “Hi! I’m Arthan. Are you alright? You were stone! It’s a good thing I decided to explore this cave!”

“Er... yeah... I’m Traxen.”

“Fuckin’ hell.”

The four of you made your way back through the hills. Your brain is still sluggish, your head pounding. The other two seem to be in a similar state. Nilli, the dwarf, holds her bow in her hands, almost for comfort, it seems like. The dark elf—Vierla—is just constantly rubbing her temples. Says her eyes are killing her. You barely recall that they mostly live underground, you guess it makes sense they don’t do well in sunlight. You should get her a pair of shades like yours.

You’re swearing, because you came around a stand of trees that wasn’t there, to that huge open clearing you passed not 5 hours ago.

It’s not open anymore.

Towers rise from inside a gigantic wall, looks like stone construction but it’s coated in a silvery material, at least 50 feet high. Lookout posts sit atop platforms at various points along it, with heavily armed guards patrolling along the top edge. Extremely heavy-duty steel gates open at a couple points, with lines of people and wagons seemingly waiting to enter. You see lots of streams of grey smoke rising from within.

“There was nothin’ ‘ere. What the fuck is this? Where are we?”

The halfling looks at you very quizzically.

“Uh... this is my home. This is Silverwall.”

Your name is Traxen. And oh boy are you fucking confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap on this story, even as another one begins.
> 
> I banged this whole work out in about 36 hours. If it wasn't clear, yes, this is a backstory for my D&D character. He went through some stuff and that was before he ever found himself in the position of trying to save the world.
> 
> The bar patron in chapter 3 may return someday. Maybe looking a little different. Our protagonist will be quite different, too. It'll take a while though. Turns out intelligence in spellcasting and historical knowledge doesn't translate to self-knowldege and emotional intelligence all that well. The pieces are coming together, though, in-game as of this writing. Traxen and company are on the verge of returning to Ellmenore. Between the century of lost time, and the 400 years spent as a stone figure in a cave, things have had ample opportunity to change there. Maybe he will too.
> 
> In case it wasn't clear, yes, this bitch is a trans egg. She'll probably be cracking soon.


End file.
